


Thaw

by I_Dont_KnowWhatImDoing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky doesn't like the arm, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, How do you tag it when the bottom is on the top?, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, I tried for plot I promise, Kinda PWP, Kinda?, M/M, Nightmares, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Sorry Not Sorry, The boys just want to take care of each other, blanket scenario
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:59:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3563828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Dont_KnowWhatImDoing/pseuds/I_Dont_KnowWhatImDoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even below the layers of armor and muscle, Steve feels the bite of the cold. It's not quite as intense or racking as it used to be back when his body was thin and offered little to protect him from the elements, but it's present and pulling and unpleasant. It's high on his list of immediate concerns, though not for himself. The numbness brings him back to the last time he was in Russia, 70 years earlier. But that was back when Bucky had been watching his back, alert and dependable, not glued to his front and immobile as he is now.</p>
<p>He's finally found the ghost he's been chasing. The question now is how does he bring him home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thaw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [okaynowkiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaynowkiss/gifts).



> Written for Angeltabletting in the Steve/Bucky Spring Fling, this is the first piece of fiction I have written and posted in over seven years (and my first time ever writing smut). To say I'm rusty is a bit of an under-statement, but I'm mostly content with how this worked out and hope I was able to meet the expectations of the prompt. I struggled with it at first, since I don't think I've even read a blanket scenario fic (is that even what they're called anymore?) since the Inuyasha fandom, but it wound up being a lot of fun! I definitely ran with it and far exceeded the 500 word minimum for the event.
> 
> I would definitely like to get back into writing fanfiction and since I'm graduating university this spring, it looks like that will actually be a possibility again! So let me know what you think, bearing in mind how long it's been since I've written anything!

Even below the layers of armor and muscle, Steve feels the bite of the cold. It's not quite as intense or racking as it used to be back when his body was thin and offered little to protect him from the elements, but it's present and pulling and unpleasant. It's high on his list of immediate concerns, though not for himself.

The numbness brings him back to the last time he was in Russia, 70 years earlier, and he's somewhat thankful for the collapsing walls around him, shielding him from the bitter bite of the wind. The windchill was the real danger; it carried the cold through the layers of your clothing and stung the skin of your face until you could barely move your mouth properly, your words coming out mumbled and slurred. Steve remembers Bucky smirking at his garbled speech, tossing out a remark about how he now understood why Russians barely opened their mouths when they spoke. But that was back when Bucky had been watching his back, alert and dependable, not glued to his front and immobile as he is now.

For months after leaving the hospital, Steve and Sam's search for Bucky had been like looking for a ghost. They'd found no evidence of where he had gone, no proof of his presence anywhere recent. So they'd started to track down the facilities in the files from Hydra and the Russians in search of any clues, finding glimpses of how Bucky had been unmade along the way. It wasn't about fighting Hydra; Steve and Sam had both turned down Fury on a role in that mission. It was about finding Bucky, but that just so happened to involve doing as much damage as possible to a large number of Hydra facilities. Most were long abandoned, others had offered some resistance, but there was no evidence that Bucky had been to any of them in a very long time. That was until they arrived in Italy to find their newest target in the process of being burned to the ground.

Steve had been confident it was Bucky, while Sam was more skeptical. There were bodies littered across the area and Steve hadn't hesitated before charging inside the increasingly compromised structure, Sam calling out to him. There had been no movement inside beyond those of the flames and Steve searched for as long as he could before Sam's voice on the comms told him he was standing in his grave if he didn't get out fast. He couldn't help but smile as be raced back outside, something still bitter in it, and Sam stared at him with both concern and possibly the conclusion that he'd finally lost it. But Steve had passed a room with the unmistakable wreckage of medical equipment, a restraint chair, and a metal and glass tank large enough to fit a man, all twisted and pulled apart as though by hand. Steve felt his anger boiling, but also a strange sense of satisfaction and relief.

Although he'd been unable to find him, Steve supposed that Bucky must have been somewhere near-by, watching him and Sam from the shadows. Because it wasn't long before he'd woken up with a start in his and Sam's motel room, alert with the feeling that they hadn't been alone, to find a single piece of paper on the nightstand with coordinates written out in a rough hand. Steve had stared, almost in awe, before waking Sam and rushing to the location as fast as possible to find another burning building scattered with the bodies of men and women carrying guns, while others wore lab coats over civvies. Bucky was once again long gone in the wake of his destruction.

It went on that way for months; Steve or Sam would find a note in their room or car with no indication of how or when Bucky had left it there and race to the location to find it in ruin with no sight of Bucky. Some of the bases had been already on their radar, but the vast majority of them Steve and Sam had zero intel on, and they all reeked of Hydra. Steve grew increasingly frustrated; he and Sam were so close, but Bucky was leading them on a wild goose chase, and to what end? What was his goal? Why acknowledge them at all, let alone invite them to the scenes of his revenge, if he didn't intend to show himself? Was it revenge, or was somebody just getting rid of evidence?

Steve eventually got his answer when a new note appeared and he and Sam had to once again cross a border to reach the location, but this time things were different. They could hear gunfire in the distance, so they ditched the car and Sam flew Steve into the chaos. They charged the building, which was far larger and more populated than any they had yet come across, Sam picking off goons trying to replace dead snipers in their nests and clearing the upper levels while Steve bolted inside, blocking bullets with his shield and throwing it mercilessly.

He stopped dead when he came face to face with the Winter Soldier, mask on and metal arm gleaming as he stood in the center of a group of fallen men. He stared hard at Steve, who merely gaped in return, before jerking his head towards the end of the corridor further into the building, where shouting and running footsteps could be heard echoing, coming closer, and taking off towards the sound. Steve was hot on his heels as they fought their way deeper and deeper inside the complex, covering his back. He knew immediately why they'd been lead here this time; the base was simply too large for Bucky to take down on his own. But all this other unanswered questions were left hanging after Bucky found the central terminal, starting a self-destruct sequence that immediately rattled the walls with distant explosives. Bucky silently jerked his head towards the door before charging back out, Steve racing after him as he called to Sam on the comms, warning him that the entire place was going to blow. As soon as they were out in the open, Bucky turned and delivered a swift kick to the center of Steve's chest, throwing him back in surprise. By the time Steve got his legs back under him, Bucky was nowhere to be seen. Steve couldn't shake the feeling that the kick hadn't been as hard as those Bucky hit him with on the helicarrier, but wasn't he sure if that was just wishful thinking. Bucky hadn't said a word to him. That night, Steve didn't sleep.

Weeks passed before another note had appeared and Steve found himself in the cold rubble he presently sat in. He and Sam had once again arrived to a firefight and Steve had once again found a silent Bucky inside, bringing down his particular brand of cold destruction. It was after that that things had clearly gone off script. Steve and Bucky had been deep inside the building when the very floor they stood on was rocked by an explosion, and Bucky's eyes met Steve's, wide and wild, as the walls around them began to fall. Steve was knocked to the ground by something solid and the shield was wrenched out of his grasp. The air left his lungs as a heavy weight settled on his chest and world around him came crashing down with an intense rumbling that flooded his ears and brain. 

When Steve came back to himself the walls had stopped coming in and he was still breathing. It was dim, everything still, and he wondered if he had lost consciousness or if it had all really just happened that quickly. He began to take inventory of himself, check for any sign that he was seriously injured, when he realized the heavy weight was still on his chest. He looked down to find Bucky draped across him, his shield in the loose grip of the metal hand above their heads, completely motionless. 

Panic flooded him and Steve worked to free himself from beneath the rubble and what he prayed wasn't just a body on top of him. He turned Bucky over, clearing away bits of ceiling and moving his shield absentmindedly aside, and felt a heavy sigh of relief gush out of him at the rise and fall of Bucky's chest. Steve looked back up at his face and paused, unsure, before reaching out and slipping off the mask that covered most of Bucky's face. His jawline was covered in unkempt facial hair that looked as though it hadn't been shaved in at least a week and a half, but his relaxed features made something twist in Steve's stomach. He hasn't seen that lax expression in years.

Gently, he passes his gloved hands over Bucky's skull, pulling away to find a smear of blood on the rugged fabric and he curses under his breath. His hands move to Bucky's neck, feeling the skin under his wild hair, but nothing appears out of line. Bucky is unconscious, bleeding from his scalp, and they are encased in rubble, all exits completely sealed, but at least he doesn't have a broken neck. He tries the comms, calls out to Sam, but is met with nothing but silence in the absence of his own voice. Gritting his teeth, Steve removes the useless cowl and prays Sam found a way out, that he's not similarly trapped or injured. Refocusing, he checks Bucky over for any further injuries, but finds nothing serious. Sitting back, Steve puts his head in his hands, lets out a slow breath, and asks himself what the hell he's going to do.

He's not sure how long he sits like that, weighing his options and letting the reality sink in, but it's long enough that he starts to feel the chill. It brings him from his thoughts and he turns back to look at Bucky. He needs to get them both out of this, alive, and that's not going to be possible if they freeze to death. So Steve moves, propping his back up against what remains standing of a wall and pulls the still unconscious man into his lap, pressing his back to Steve's chest and resting his head on Steve's shoulder. He wraps his arms around Bucky's chest to hold him upright against him and presses his legs to the outside of Bucky's. It brings a slight flush to him, an awkward anxiety creeping up in his chest, but Steve pushes it back down. Their position reminds him of cold winters with wracking coughs, the two of them wrapped under every blanket they owned, Bucky sharing his considerably greater body heat, and of frigid nights in the Alps where Steve had finally been the one with some heat to spare. It had perhaps always been a little strange for them to be so close, even by the standards of their time where platonic touching between men was more common, to have never shied away from such contact, but they had known each other their whole lives. They had never questioned the comfort they felt with each other or the ease with which their bodies came in contact. It was simply how they were. Steve wonders if Bucky remembers and feels sick. This current closeness is a necessity, not a comfort. He can't let himself think differently.

He resolves to wait, knows he is unable to get them both out on his own; they were too deep underground. He feels dizzy and his breath heaves. It's surreal to have Bucky there in his arms and to feel his long hair tickling his jaw. He wants Bucky to wake up, knows he needs him to, but a twisted part of him hopes he won't stir just yet, that he'll get to hold Bucky a moment longer. The exposed metal arm leeches the heat from his body and cools his left side. He can fell his grief bubbling close to the surface; after Bucky fell he'd felt so alone and like he'd never quite fit back into the world again. There'd been some contorted bliss as the Valkyrie fell towards the ocean in the knowledge that he wouldn't have to. But then he'd woken up, and it had been a new century. Not only was his best friend dead, to his knowledge, but it was old news, a story everyone had grown up hearing. Nobody looked at Steve and saw the fresh raw wound of his recent loss; they were more concerned with teaching him how to use Google. Steve had mourned in isolation. But now this man he's grieved for is in his arms, except he doesn't know how much of him is actually there. The minutes that pass would be peaceful if it weren't for the feeling of his insides being turned out. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

It's quickly cut short as he's slammed against the wall with a jerk and a metal hand clutches around his throat. Steve eyes snap open wide and his hands fly up to grip Bucky's arm, but he makes no other movement. Bucky is still twisted in his lap and stares down at him for a beat, expression fierce, before his eyebrows draw up and together, eyes widening slightly. He looks down at Steve, taking him in, before his eyes dart around the space and he releases Steve's throat as though burned, scooting away as the rush of air trapped in Steve's lungs finally escapes. He swallows a few ragged breaths, arms dropping to his sides, before looking back at Bucky who's eyes continue to dart around the rubble like a cornered animal.

“Bucky-” he tries, before Bucky's eyes fix back on him sharply.

“Are you injured?” Bucky interrupts, voice hoarse from disuse. 

“What?” Steve starts. “No, I'm alright...” It's not a total lie. His head is pounding and his chest is painfully tight, but he's functional and technically physically fine. “Are you okay? You took a hit to the head...”

Holding eye contact with Steve seems difficult for Bucky from the way that he breaks away his gaze, dropping his eyes before closing them entirely, completely ignoring Steve's question. When he opens them again, his look is assessing. “They blew themselves up and tried to take you down with them,” he says simply.

Steve's not certain who the comment was for, but he responds anyway. “Guess somebody caught on to your habit.”

Bucky's eyes fix on him coolly again. “Any contact?”

“None,” Steve says as he pats the cowl resting by his side. “Not even static.”

“Is your partner likely to attempt extraction?”

The feeling in Steve's gut sours further at the question. Sam knows to keep looking until he finds a body; Steve wishes he had. “If he's able, he will. So let's hope Sam got out okay, for all our sakes.” He forces himself to take a deep breath. “Sam's a good man, he'll do whatever he can.”

The sound that comes out of Bucky is almost like a scoff, barely held in. “That's not worth much.” A silence passes between them as Bucky continues to move those calculating eyes over the space again and again, looking for any opening. Steve simply watches him, unsure what to say or do; he feels awkward in his skin. This conversation is all wrong. He has a million things he wants to ask Bucky, questions that have been burning inside him for months, but none of them can find their way to his lips right now. It feels like more minutes pass before Bucky's eyes still on a spot vaguely between their two bodies on the floor, and he asks in a quiet voice, “How long was I out?”

“I... I'm not totally sure. I might have been out a bit myself, but it's hard to tell. Maybe thirty minutes? An hour?”

“You said you were uninjured.” Bucky's tone is sharp.

“I'm fine, Bucky, I've been through worse,” Steve says and immediately regrets at the way Bucky flinches at the name ever so slightly, his gaze falling away again. “You took the worst of it... Are you okay? Your head was bleeding and you...” Steve is struck dumb for a moment as the realization dawns on him. Bucky had been on top of him, Steve's shield in his loose grip above both their heads, after he had been knocked to the ground following the first explosion. “You took the worst of it. You shielded us both.”

Bucky's only response is to move his flesh hand to the back of his head and stare at the small patch of blood that stains it when he pulls away. If he's displeased about the injury, he doesn't let it show as he wipes the blood away on his pants. The silence returns and Steve feels hollowed out by the cold and conversation, if it can be called that. He simply stares at Bucky with no idea how to proceed or respond. Why did he save Steve again? Why trust him in these missions, for lack of a better word? How much does he remember? Why does he flinch at his own name?

It's Bucky, again, who breaks the silence. “What were you doing when I woke up?”

“Waiting,” Steve says simply, feeling his anxiety creep back up with his flush as the portion of the question he's not answering. “For you to wake up or for rescue.”

“I don't mean that.”

He feels the pang of familiarity at Bucky's gaze. Steve had always been one to lie by telling half-truths, and that look meant he was doing a bad job at hiding the worst of the news and Bucky was determined to get to the root of it. He edge of cruelty it holds now is new.

Steve sets his jaw before answering, “You were unconscious and I didn't know how bad you were hurt. I didn't want you to freeze.” He knows it's sound logic and justified action, but he can't help the edge of embarrassment that creeps into his voice. Bucky's look goes assessing again at his answer, like he's sizing Steve up. This time, it's Steve's turn to look away.

After a moment, Bucky shifts from across the small space. Steve's eyes flick back to find him moving closer and Steve holds still as Bucky nears him, his expression unreadable. Bucky reaches out, his hands resting on either side of Steve's head before sweeping down gently. Steve barely registers the tender spot at the back of his head as fingers, both flesh and metal, pass over it and apply light pressure, but his touch feels cool. Bucky pulls his hands away to look at them, but they remain clean. At such a close distance, Steve can clearly see the red tinge touching Bucky's ears, nose, and human fingers. He doesn't doubt Bucky finds the same redness on his face with that sharp gaze. They're both losing body heat and even if their bodies have been changed to endure extreme conditions, they won't last forever. Bucky must come to the same conclusion, because after briefly looking down at the expanse of Steve's chest with an unreadable expression, he's twisting around to seat himself between Steve's legs and lean back against his chest.

Steve feels like his heart is beating too quickly for Bucky not to feel it and he just sits there motionless as Bucky settles against him. His mouth is dry and Bucky stares straight ahead at the opposing wall. Without a word, Bucky reaches down to grab Steve's right arm and wrap it around him, tucking his knees up, practically pinning the arm between his chest and legs. Steve lets his head tilt back against the wall and lets out a slow breath, unsure how to respond.

After a time, he moves his right arm to join the first, but Bucky stops him, holding up the metal arm. “You'll lose more heat against the metal,” he says matter-of-factually.

“I don't mind,” Steve responds, trying to move his left arm again only to have his wrist clasped in Bucky's mechanical grip and forced back down to his side.

“Leave it,” he says coolly, so Steve does.

The silence creeps back between them yet again, this time contrasted by the illusion of physical intimacy. Maybe it's easier because he can't see Bucky's face, can't feel that calculated gaze working him over, but Steve eventually finds his voice this time. “What are we doing here?” is all he manages. Bucky doesn't respond, and since his response to questions he doesn't wish to answer appears to be ignoring them, Steve persists. “Why tell Sam and I where you were going if you wouldn't even talk to us?”

“I was at a tactical disadvantage. You leveled the field.”

Steve bites back the bitterness he feels at the answer. He had figured as much, that Bucky's reason may have been purely strategic, but it stings to hear it said so plainly. “Then why not actually bring us in? Let us plan it out together? I-... We could help.” Steve fights to keep his voice level and light, but Bucky is simply silent again. Yet another question he doesn't want to answer hangs in the hair. Steve can't stand it. “I understand if you want to make them pay. If you want to burn them to the ground, I won't stop you. Just give the word and I'll help ya' do it. Just... They deserve it, for what they did to you-”

“What do you know?” Bucky spits.

“Some,” Steve replies calmly. “I'd know more if you told me...”

“You don't want me to.” The words are curt, but have less fire to them, as though Bucky were commenting on the conversation rather than participating in it. Steve doesn't like the distance in it.

“I want you however I can have you,” Steve says, fumbling over how the words must sound. “I mean... even with all that's happened. I'm just glad you're alive.”

Bucky shifts against Steve's chest and for a moment he's worried he's going to pull away. He resists the urge to hold on tighter; he can't take this choice away from Bucky too. “I don't... what are you expecting here?” Bucky asks.

Steve stalls, thinking. It's not really a question he's asked himself very much in the months since Bucky's re-appearance. “I'm not really sure...” he eventually admits. “I just want to help in any way I can. It that means leavin' you alone, then fine. I owe you that. But... I don't see why you'd be leaving me co-ordinates of where you'd be if that's the case.”

“You don't owe me shit.”

“You saved my life, Bucky.”

“I was the one trying to end it.”

“That wasn't the only time.”

Bucky lets out a heavy sigh, pressing Steve into the wall with the volume of the breath he takes. “I'm not... I'm not that guy. Bucky, your Bucky. He died a long time ago.”

Steve's eyes feel hot and he fights to swallow it down. “Then who are you now?” Bucky's only response is silence once more. “Whatever-... No matter who you are now, you're my friend and I'm sticking by you. Promised that a long time ago.”

Bucky almost lets out a laugh. “Always so fucking stubborn...”

Steve's tongue feels thick when he hesitantly asks, “Do you... remember anything?”

“Some...” Bucky tries, his hair falling in his eyes. “It's all... jumbled. I'm not sure how much of what I can remember is... real.”

Steve remembers the files and the various techniques described therein that they had used to control Bucky. They'd started with torture, all the standard fair, and after a time they'd made Bucky pliant, quiet, and well-behaved... for the most part. He would still have violent outbursts and couldn't be trusted unsupervised. That was until Zola returned, and Steve's jaw clenches at the memory. He'd been in the company of a Dr. Faustus, and it was after Faustus and Bucky's time together that the weapon Hydra had been dreaming about started to emerge. Hypnotism had been the key to birthing the Winter Soldier from what remained of Bucky Barnes.

“You know, they made me think I was runnin' with you at first,” Bucky continues after a time, bringing Steve back to the present from the pages of Hydra files in his memory. “You and the Commandos... Which was stupid, I knew you were dead, they'd told me so, showed me all the newsreels, but... By then it was just easier to believe the lie.”

“Bucky...” Steve barely breathes the name past his lips. He can feel Bucky shaking against him and his whole body is bent tightly over Steve's right arm.

“I don't know what we actually did and what they just made me think we did... Sometimes it's easier to tell it's made up, since... sometimes you're smaller but we're still running missions... You did use to be smaller, right?” The barest trace of a laugh that leaves Bucky sounds broken.

“Yeah, Buck... You remember... before the war?”

“Parts, but... it's not important. It's someone else's life now.”

Steve breaks. He wraps his left arm around Bucky's shoulders and buries his face in the back of his neck. “That ain't true. You're James Barnes as I live and breathe. Nothing's changing that.”

“Steve...” Bucky breathes, and Steve melts. It's the first time Bucky's spoken his name and he missed it, he missed everything about him. He missed anybody looking at him and seeing Steve Rogers first, Captain America second.

“Please, Bucky... I'll do whatever I can to help you, please just let me. I can't lose you again, I just can't...” Steve's eyes sting.

“I've killed a lot of people... shaped the century...” The voice Bucky says the phrase in isn't quite his own.

“Wasn't you; I don't care. Please just come home...”

Bucky's not even resisting being held, but he's rigid in Steve's grip. “So I can do what? Try and kill you again? Maybe succeed this time? I don't have a home... As soon as they get me back in that chair I'll forget all about you again...”

Steve swallows, remembering what he'd read about the electro-convulsive therapy Hydra had used to erase Bucky's recent memories after Faustus' death. It made him more “stable” and cost him memories of the weeks leading up to the procedure. They'd induced seizures without a sedative to make him a better soldier. “I won't let them,” Steve says simply. “I'm so sorry... I wasn't there the first time. I'm sorry I let you fall and I'm sorry I didn't come after you...” Steve knows he thought he was. “But they won't ever take you again.”

“You can't promise that...” Bucky says weakly.

“Bucky, look at me,” Steve asks, loosening his grip on his friend and pulling back to give him the room to turn. He obliges, still mostly in Steve's lap, but his eyes are glassy and they don't meet Steve's gaze. Steve lets his hand fall on Bucky's shoulder, jostling him slightly, willing Bucky to really look at him. “I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. If they want to take you back, they'll have to go through me first. And I'll burn the whole world down before that happens. You're not going anywhere you don't want to, Buck, and I'm praying you'll come with me. But I'm not going to force you, because then I'm no better. I want you to come home because you choose it. And, God, I know home's 70 years back in some long-gone closet in Brooklyn, but it was just a building. We still got each other. That was the worst thing about the future, Buck... it didn't have you in it, any version of you. I couldn't... I wasn't...” Steve's voice faltered as he closed his eyes to try to keep the tears threatening to fall at bay.

“Steve...” He feels a mostly gloved hand cup his cheek, almost in a caress, the thumb gliding over his cheek as fingertips cup the line of his jaw. When he opens his eyes, Bucky is looking at him intently, his features pained. “Did... Were we...?” Steve watches Bucky's eyes fall to his lips and linger before sweeping back up to his eyes, searching. They're close, and Steve feels himself flush when he recognizes the intent in Bucky's gaze. Just as quickly as it happened, it ends; Bucky's expression changes, a moment of realization washing over him, and he pulls away from Steve, hand falling to a fist at his side. “No...” he says, looking down, away, anywhere but Steve. “No, we... we were friends... but...”

Steve reaches out, takes Bucky's forearm in hand, and, before he can even think about it, says, “Do it... Whatever you were going to do just then, just... do it.”

Bucky stares up at Steve, hesitating, before slowly moving his hand back to where it was on Steve's jaw, Steve's hand still gripping his forearm. He moves painfully slow, crowding Steve against the wall. His back is completely flush to it and his chest almost touches Bucky's as he all but struggles for air, their combined breathing creating small huffs of fog between them. Bucky stops when his lips are mere inches from Steve's, never breaking the eye contact between them. He isn't sure if Bucky is giving him the opportunity to shove him off and change his mind or if he's simply working up the courage. Steve merely stares back, his expression taut, waiting, until Bucky finally closes the space and their lips touch. Steve all but melts into the kiss, his left hand sliding up Bucky's arm to rest at the nape of his neck, right finding his waist. Bucky grips Steve's cheek tightly in his flesh hand, the left one propping him up against the wall. The position is somewhat awkward, and Steve can feel the cold of Bucky's nose against his cheek and the scrape of his stubble, but it's blissful all the same. Like all good things, it ends to quickly.

Bucky pulls back, his breathing heavy. “You sure we never done that before?”

Steve shakes his head weakly. “Definitely would have remembered...”

Steve's heart is pounding as Bucky leans back in to catch his mouth again. He feels like his world is being twisted around and it's intoxicating. His ears and fingers and feet are freezing from the cold but he feels like he's burning up from the inside out. He never wants to stop kissing Bucky, never thought he would ever get the chance to in his life. He wants to wrap himself around him and never let go.

They both start when the remains of the building around them shift above and Bucky immediately changes his stance, pulling away and ready for conflict. His eyes meet Steve's again briefly and they look wild again, confused.

“Steve!” calls a familiar voice from above, and Steve lets out a sigh of relief.

“Down here, Sam!” he shouts back, wincing at how the volume of his own voice rings in his ears in the small space. Steve looks to Bucky and offers him a small smile, but something in the other man's face has changed from moments ago. His look is again calculated and assessing. The raw openness has been shut away once more.

“Holy shit... You okay down there, man?” Sam's voice returns, the relief palpable. 

“Yeah, but we'll be a lot better when you get us out! Can you do that?”

“Yeah! Just give me some time! You know I'm slow!”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steve and Bucky don't speak to each other as Sam digs them out. Steve wants to tell Bucky he can come with him and Sam, to tell him that he meant every word he said. He also wants to kiss him again and keep him close. He does neither. Bucky doesn't even look at him.

When they emerge from the rubble, Bucky simply turns to Steve and says, “Don't follow me.”

So he doesn't. He watches Bucky walk away and tries not to fall apart.

In the days that pass, Sam doesn't ask what happened over the time that Steve and Bucky were trapped together in the cold rubble and Steve's grateful. He figures Sam is either waiting for the pain of Bucky walking away to be a little less fresh or for Steve to bring it up on his own. Either way, he's glad he doesn't have to try and explain. Or lie.

Steve and Sam bunk down in a small motel a few miles from the highway where it seems like they're the only guests. Sam gives Steve his space and they spare the money to get separate rooms for now. Steve wonders if Sam's just that intuitive or if he's just that bad at hiding how gutted he feels. He supposes it's for Sam's benefit too; Steve tosses and turns all night, his dreams unkind to him when he does sleep.

He can't help but go over his actions again and again. What could he have done differently? What could he have said? Why did Bucky leave? What could he have done to make him stay? Should he have kissed him?

The kiss is what he keeps coming back to. Bucky had been so open in that moment, only to build walls back around himself as soon as it was over. But it meant that Bucky was in there, somewhere, behind those walls. And he had kissed Steve. Steve felt overwhelmed by the experience, years of feelings he'd been smothering springing to the surface. He'd wanted Bucky for as long as he'd known how to want, but always told himself it was something he could never have. Bucky was his buddy, his lifeline in so many ways, but he was never lacking affection from the opposite sex. Hell, Bucky was so charming he could even talk a girl into bringing a date for Steve, as undesirable as he was. He'd never look twice at Steve that way, didn't need to, so Steve just had to continue to be the best friend he could to him. Except apparently Bucky _had_ looked at him that way, or at least he did now. Had he always? Or was it something they put into his head to control him? Bucky had said he was confused about what was and wasn't real between them.

When Steve closes his eyes, he dreams of Bucky falling, of Bucky being tortured, of the Valkyrie hitting the water, of Bucky killing their friends and family and thinking he was doing in Steve's name, and of Bucky looking at him and seeing nothing, just another target to be eliminated. He would wake choking on breath, the sheets strewn about him, and covered in sweat. His nightmares haven't been this bad since he first woke up from the ice. He's glad he and Sam are the only people in the motel, or he suspects they would have been tossed out for keeping everyone awake with his shouting. He feels directionless, not knowing what to do after Bucky's parting words, and doesn't even have enough to occupy his mind to keep it from torturing him.

It's another one of those nights that he spends tossing and turning, deep in the throes of some twisted up memory, a formation just to torment him, that he wakes with a start and a heavy hand on his shoulder. He tries to sit up with a jolt, but the hand keeps him in place, flat on his back on the bed. His eyes, snapped open, adjust to the dark and make out the weathered features in front of him. He barely manages not to lash out with his fists on instinct.

“Bucky...” he breathes. His chest is heaving and his throat is dry. He's not even sure how he got in.

“You were...” Bucky's eyes fall away from his own and his expression is pinched. “It sounded like it hurt.”

Bucky is leaning over the bed and Steve, who shakily reaches up to wipe sweat off of his brow. Bucky had woken Steve from his nightmares, then. He gives a small nod. “You came back...”

Bucky gives a small shrug. “I didn't go far, I just... needed to think... and to be sure.”

“Sure about what?” Steve's intensely aware of how easily Bucky could kill him now, simply slit his throat. He's in absolutely no position to defend himself and he knows he wouldn't even try. If Bucky kills him, so be it.

“That... you wouldn't follow, if I asked. That you meant that.”

“I'm not trying to lock you up, Buck. You don't have to go anywhere you don't want to with me...”

“I also... I need to...” Bucky's look is stern as he tries to gather his thoughts. “You had a girl,” he says suddenly, throwing Steve for a bit of a loop.

“A girl?” he repeats, not following.

“British, brunette, sharp. A red dress.”

What little air Steve had managed to gather in his lungs leaves him in a gush. “Peggy.”

Bucky's expression seems to go elsewhere for a moment, until he looks back down at Steve and nods. “Peggy.”

“What about her?” Steve asks, trying to keep the edge of fear he can feel creeping in out of his voice. What could Bucky want with Peggy?

“She was your girl, but you... You were going to marry her.”

Steve swallows at that. He'd never said it out loud, but he'd hoped that if they all made it to the other side of the war he would marry Peggy and even start a family. She'd been passionate and funny and saw the best in people, even when the world had done little more than beat her down. But Bucky had seen it, he knew that. Bucky had been egging Steve on, flirting with Peggy in front of him, and telling Steve, 'A woman like that doesn't come 'round everyday, Steve. You don't ask her to dance now and there'll be a line ten miles long by the time you get off your ass.' Steve had been in love with Peggy Carter and crazy enough to hope she'd felt the same.

But loving Peggy Carter hadn't stopped Steve from loving Bucky Barnes.

“Yeah, Buck, maybe...” Steve manages to say as the pieces of what Bucky's really asking seem to fall into place. “You went with dames too, lots of 'em...”

“That was different,” Bucky returns sharply. “You loved her.”

“Loved you too. Only difference was that I didn't know you'd ever even think about being my guy...”

The look Bucky fixes on him is shaky, and he lifts his right hand from Steve's shoulder to barely brush it through Steve's damp and messy hair. He looks exhausted.

“Did you?” Steve asks. “Before, I mean. Did you want to?”

Bucky's eyes flick across Steve's face. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I think I did...”

“And now?” Steve's voice is barely above a whisper.

“I...” Bucky looks away from him again. “I don't know.”

Steve reaches up and gently grips Bucky's forearm. “Please stay, Buck, we'll figure it out...”

Bucky pulls back slightly, but not completely from Steve's grip. “I shouldn't, I just... You sounded... I had to... I didn't mean...”

“Bucky...” Steve's grip on Bucky is firm. He shifts over on the bed to give Bucky the room to sit if he so chooses. “Nobody's going to hurt you here and you're not going to hurt me...”

Bucky seems to deflate at his words, and he sinks down onto the edge of the bed. “You don't know that...” he says weakly.

“No,” Steve ascents. “I don't. But I trust you. Everything they did, and you're still saving me. I know you're the one that pulled me out of the water. I know you protected us both with the shield when the base went down. You're waking me up from my damn bad dreams, Buck. That guy I love's still there, and he wouldn't hurt me. Well, besides my pride; got no qualms about showing me up.”

Bucky smiles feebly at Steve's attempt at humor and Steve's overcome by how tired he looks. Slowly, Steve swings his legs off the opposite edge of the bed and walks around to where Bucky is sitting. He's wearing nothing but boxer-briefs and an undershirt, but Bucky's fully layered up, dressed for the weather. Steve kneels down at his feet, watching Bucky closely for any signs of protest, and reaches down to start untying his boots. 

“Please just let me help you, Buck... However I can... Just tell me what it is that you want...” he says gently. He's monitoring Bucky for any sign that he should stop, but he just seems to mellow at the contact as Steve gently removes his worn combat boots and wet socks from his feet. They've left puddles of melted snow on the motel carpet, and Steve puts them aside at the foot of the bed. “Can I get your coat?”

Bucky chews on his bottom lip, looking uncertain, but he slowly reaches up and pulls down the zipper. After that, he seems to run out of steam, so Steve reaches up to put his hands on his shoulders.

“I'm going to help you pull it off, okay? Tell me if you want to leave it on.” Bucky just nods, and Steve gingerly slips the worn jacket down Bucky's arms and off. He folds it and lays it on the edge of the bed, away but not too far should Bucky change his mind. He'd hate himself if Bucky got spooked and left without it in the cold. His gloves come off next, and he's finally down to just indoor clothes. Steve can feel his own body cooling from the sweat and being exposed to the air of the drafty motel room and goosebumps raise on his skin.

“Steve...” Bucky breathes softly, and Steve's eyes meet his again as Bucky's hand slips back into that space along his jaw and cheek. Steve feels his features go slack and catches himself staring at Bucky's mouth, pulls his eyes up to meet Bucky's just in time for him to lean in. Bucky stops again, inches from Steve, who can feel Bucky's breath on his lips when he asks, “Can I...?”

That's all it takes for Steve to close the distance between them, his hands finding their way into Bucky's long hair. It starts gentle and chaste, like it had been in the rubble. But it's not long before Steve's kissing him desperately, the shock from their first kiss worn off, and Bucky's matching his intensity. Steve parts his lips and Bucky wastes no time licking into his mouth and swallows the moan Steve lets out at the sensation. Moving his hand to the nape of Steve's neck, Bucky pulls him up off the floor, urging him forward as he leans back and lets himself lay on the bed, Steve's lips never leaving his. He straddles Bucky, wary of putting too much of his weight onto him, and they kiss until they're breathless.

When Steve pulls back slightly, it's Bucky who speaks first. “Steve, I... I want it, everything-” he bites off the end of his words. Steve can see in the dark that Bucky's eyes are shining.

“You got it, Buck,” Steve says tenderly, brushing Bucky's hair from this face before bringing their lips back together. Bucky's hand loosens its grip on Steve's short hair, sliding down to his waist as Bucky wraps his right arm around Steve, pulling their bodies closer together, encouraging Steve to press down onto him. Steve obliges, moaning softly into Bucky's mouth at the jolt of pleasure that runs through him. It brings a small chuckle out of him along with the abrupt awareness of how little his current state of dress is doing to conceal how having Bucky's body under him with his arm wrapped around Steve's waist is affecting him. Bucky's fingers slip under the hemline of Steve's undershirt and Steve untangles his hands from Bucky's hair so he can push his upper body off of him to pull the shirt off.

Bucky's expression as he stares up at Steve, panting through his open mouth, is reverent. Steve leans back down to press kisses along Bucky's neck and jaw as Bucky closes his eyes and tilts his head back to give Steve better access. Steve settles his hands just above where his legs rest around Bucky's waist and he slowly gathers the fabric of Bucky's hoodie between his fingers. He lets the cloth rise without urgency as they continue to kiss, slowly working it up Bucky's torso. Eventually Bucky plants his left arm firmly on the bed and sits up, taking Steve with him, so he can pull the hoodie over his head. He tosses the article aside before collapsing back down on the bed and Steve has to hold himself up as they fall to avoid their noses cracking together. He looks down at Bucky's bare chest and Steve's eyes immediately lock on the rough seam of flesh and metal that makes up his left shoulder. He bites his lip; his eyes sting at the sight of the scarred skin, the details of which he can barely make out in the low light. He follows his second instinct, leaning down to press his lips to the junction of man and machine. He feels Bucky flinch and withdraws.

“Anything you don't like, you tell me, okay?” Steve says softly. “You say so and I stop, I swear.”

Bucky just nods, lets his left arm lay still at his side and Steve sinks back down so they can kiss again. Bucky rocks his hips up against Steve's, who starts a little at the feeling of Bucky hard against him.

“Pants off?” Steve asks with a small smirk.

“Please,” Bucky breathes back. They're both flushed and panting, Steve's whole chest practically painted pink, as Steve sits up and sets to work on Bucky's belt. Bucky props himself up on his elbows as Steve moves his feet back onto the floor, sinking to his knees as he pulls Bucky's pants down to his ankles and off.

Steve stares up at the bare body of his best friend, breathless. Bucky's build is much wider and stronger than Steve's ever seen him; even during the war, Bucky had always been powerful but lean. Now his size rivals even Steve's and he looks hard all over, no soft edges to his body. Steve wonders absently if this is how Bucky felt seeing Steve in his new body for the first time, but he imagines it didn't hurt Bucky quite so much. Steve had been healed, his sickly body made strong, by a compassionate man with kind eyes and a fierce determination to do good in the world. Bucky had been beaten and broken down and reshaped into a weapon by cruel men who saw him as a thing.

“Steve?” Bucky's concerned voice brings Steve back into the moment, and he realizes he's been staring at Bucky as his eyes welled up, lost in a past he has no power to change. Bucky's eyes are full of worry when he meets them and he's sat up so he can stroke his hand through Steve's hair. The expression is so painfully familiar Steve almost laughs, but his chest is tight and the room might be spinning for him a little.

“I love you,” Steve blurts out, and Bucky's hand briefly pauses in his hair. “I just... I had always wished I could have told you. Now I can.” Steve bites his lip and tries to fight off the deeper shade of red he knows his face, chest, neck, and ears must be turning.

Bucky leans down and kisses him again and Steve feels the knot in his chest loosen slightly. It's okay, he's got Bucky here again. This time he'll keep him safe. Bucky doesn't need to be able to tell Steve he loves him back just yet, maybe ever, it's not necessary. Because Bucky's already fought his way through hell to get back to Steve and that's enough for him to know.

“I missed you,” Bucky breathes against his lips, and at that Steve's soaring.

Steve, still on his knees on the floor, slides his hands up the outside of Bucky's legs from his ankles to his thighs. When Bucky shows no signs of protest, he lets them glide up further, caressing Bucky's stomach and chest. That earns him a muffled sigh and a tighter grip on his hair, so he allows his hands to sink back down and come to rest on the inside of Bucky's thighs, spread wide to accommodate Steve between them. He knows he's being a tease, but it's also a matter of working up the nerve; Steve hasn't ever touched another man this way. Bucky groans and bites Steve's bottom lip, aching to be touched, and Steve steels himself and gives Bucky what he wants. He wraps his long fingers around Bucky's hard cock and swallows his sounds of relief in their kiss.

He strokes him gently at first, trying to find the best placement for his hand and getting familiar with Bucky's shape. It feels less like touching himself than he'd expect, but the angle is entirely different. The way Bucky is bent forward to kiss him isn't giving him much room to work with either. “Lean back, Buck,” he murmurs into Bucky's ear when he breaks their kiss and is given a whine in protest. Bucky does as asked, though, propping himself up on his left elbow as he lays back, never taking his hand off of Steve's golden hair. 

Steve places a light kiss on the inside of Bucky's thigh as he gets a firmer grip on his dick. His movements remain slow and gentle and he watches Bucky closely, looking for any signs of displeasure or discomfort. He tries to think of what he likes and is rewarded with a pleasured sounding gasp from Bucky when he draws his thumb across his frenulum with a light stroke. He kisses Bucky's thigh again and adds more pressure to his movements, his eye's moving between Bucky's face and cock. Bucky is panting through his open mouth, eyes locked on Steve's, his hair already messy and wild from Steve's fingers in it earlier. Everything about him is beautiful to Steve, and a part of him still can't believe that the look of desire in his best friend's eyes is for him. Steve can feel his nerves bubbling, knows his face, chest, neck, and ears must be tinged scarlet, but he has a strong impulse and the urge to follow it. Without allowing himself to hesitate, Steve leans in and licks a thin stripe from the middle of Bucky's shaft up his frenulum. He feels Bucky's legs jerk in response and hears his gasp, and Steve pulls back to look at him.

“Good or bad?” Steve asks, heart pounding.

“Christ, Steve,” Bucky pants, tipping his head back for a moment before looking back down at Steve and nodding.

Encouraged, Steve leans back in and licks Bucky from the seam of his balls to the head and hears him groan. The taste of him makes Steve's mouth water and he immediately wants more, so he repeats the movement. He experiments with different ways of tonguing at Bucky's dick, becoming engrossed in the task, as he learns what will make Bucky tense and gasp and what makes him melt and groan. He's swirling his tongue around the head when he wonders how much of Bucky he could fit inside his mouth and his own member twitches at the thought. He slowly lets his head sink down as Bucky slides past his lips and over his tongue into his mouth. They both groan deeply, and Steve can feel the way his own makes his lips buzz against Bucky. Bucky's grip on Steve's hair is tight, but his hand moves with Steve as he raises his head back up again only to slide back down, deeper this time. Steve's hand wraps itself tightly around the base of Bucky's cock, slick with Steve's saliva, as he starts to work him in time with the movements of his mouth. He's painfully aroused, his own groin aching, but too absorbed in the task at hand to notice any discomfort. He wants to feel all of Bucky inside him, to feel him pulse against his tongue.

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky breathes, and Steve glaces up at him, never stopping his work, unsure when he had closed his eyes. When their gazes meet Bucky moans loudly and he all but grimaces as his stomach clenches. “Shit, Steve, you gotta stop...”

Steve pulls off of Bucky immediately, though a little mournfully. “What's wrong?” he asks, lips swollen and pupils blown.

Bucky lets out a breathy laugh at him and Steve feels drunk on how genuine it sounds. “Nothing, ya' mook, I was gonna come down your throat if you didn't stop.”

“You could,” Steve responds immediately. He's not sure what more he could want in that moment.

Bucky just shakes his head, and gives Steve's hair a little tug that feels blissful. “Come back up here.”

Steve does as he's told, climbing back up onto the bed as Bucky pulls him down for another kiss. Steve can't quite tell if Bucky's kissing him harder now, or if it's just the sensitivity from his lips, but it feels even more intense. Then suddenly Bucky's right hand has reached across to his left side, where Steve is stretched out, and taken Steve's aching prick in his grasp. Steve practically whimpers at the contact, his dick feeling heavy and tender. Bucky starts to mouth a Steve's jaw and neck, nipping at his ear, setting fire to his nerves everywhere he touches. He's gentle with him at first, like Steve had been, before quickly increasing the speed and pressure of his strokes.

“Do you wanna fuck me?”

It's out of Steve's mouth before he can even realize he's saying it. He bites his lip, barely holding back a curse. Bucky's rhythm on his dick doesn't falter, but he stops his assault on Steve's neck and pulls back to look him in the eye. His pupils are blown wide and his lips are shining. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes.” Steve thinks he's wanted that since before he really even understood what sex was.

Bucky worries at his lip as he watches Steve's face, slowing his hand over Steve slightly. “I don't want to hurt you,” he says simply, his tone determined.

“You won't, you won't,” Steve promises, shaking his head feebly. The thought that Bucky might actually want to be inside him has Steve so aroused he can taste it.

The look Bucky gives him is serious. “You ever had anybody fuck you before?”

Steve weakly shakes his head again. “No, but... I've... done it to myself...”

At that, Bucky leans in to kiss him again, hard and deep, and slows the motions of his hand before removing it completely, pulling away with a simple, “Show me.”

It takes a while for the command to register in Steve's brain, but once it does he moves shakily onto his feet. He walks unsteadily over to his duffel bag, tucked neatly beside the dresser, and rummages through it for a moment before finding what he's after. When he does he returns to the bed, Bucky having shifted so that he's laying across it properly now, his head on the pillows, with the personal lubricant in hand. With some hesitation, he moves across Bucky to straddle him like they had been earlier. “This okay?” Bucky's expression looks pulled, like he's torn between his own arousal and concern, so Steve continues. “I can control it this way, you won't have to worry,” he punctuates with a kiss to Bucky's forehead. “I'll take care of everything...”

“You'll stop if it hurts?”

Steve hums and gives a small nod. “Promise. You'll tell me if you feel too... pinned down?”

Bucky catches his lips again and they kiss deeply before Bucky whispers, “Feels good when it's you... I guess you've got a show to put on, Rogers.”

Steve shivers at the words, straightening up and opening the bottle of lubricant. He feels overly conscious of his every movement, focusing on his hands instead of Bucky's face. He's never even told anyone he pleasured himself this way, let alone shown them; it certainly wasn't seen as a normal thing to explore when he was growing up. All the same, he schools his embarrassment and coats the fingers of his right hand liberally before closing the bottle and setting it down at the head of the bed. He grabs onto the tall heavy headboard with his left hand, holding himself up, and closes his eyes and he moves his other hand behind him into position. He gingerly runs the pad of his index finger across his opening, then rubs at himself in firmer and firmer circles. Slowly and gently, he pushes his first finger inside of himself, the sensation foreign and not yet pleasurable. He works himself at an easy pace, letting his body adjust to the stretch and relax. Bucky slides his flesh hand up Steve's leg to his waist, letting it move back down over the meat of Steve's ass. Steve licks his lips as he continues to work, knows he has to take his time or Bucky will stop him at the slightest indication of discomfort. Bucky's hand petting his body calms his nerves and helps him relax, so Steve is soon ready for a second finger. He presses his lips together and hums at the wider stretch, his head tipping back slightly. This is when it starts to feel good for him; when he's overcome the discomfort of that first intrusion and starts to crave more stimulation he revels in it. 

“God, Steve,” Bucky moans and Steve looks down at him. The worry is gone from his face and he's looking up at Steve like he hung the moon, watching him closely. Steve starts to move his fingers in and out of himself at a faster pace, willing the process to go faster. His erection twitches between his legs and Bucky's eyes catch the movement. With a small smirk, he stops caressing Steve's body and trails his finger from the base of Steve's cock to the the very tip, making it sway. It draws a gasp from Steve's lips, making him clench down on his fingers and turning his sigh into a low moan. He leans heavily on his left arm for support, curving his body over Bucky and moving his hand even faster. Bucky strokes his dick lazily with just enough pressure to have him wordlessly voicing his arousal but not enough to bring him to the edge.

It's enough that Steve is able to press a third finger into himself and he can feel his body breaking out into a light sweat at the stretch. His wills himself to relax further, trying to breathe deeply but catching on waves of pleasure. After what feels like entirely too long, his body adjusts and all traces of discomfort are gone; he simply wants more.

“Bucky...” he pants, practically aching for him.

“You ready for me, Stevie?”

Steve can only nod desperately as he continues to fuck himself on his own hand. Bucky reaches up for the bottle of lubricant, pouring a liberal amount in his flesh hand before coating the length of his prick in the slick. Steve watches him impatiently, pulling his fingers from his body the moment Bucky seems satisfied. He leans down and fervently kisses Bucky, using his already oiled hand to grasp him at the base and line them up. Slowly, he pushes his body down, fighting to keep his movement steady and controlled. He feels the pressure build until he finally yields and Bucky starts to slide inside him. Bucky gives a grunt and Steve seems to stop breathing for a moment, going completely still. The strain is profound, Bucky's cock significantly wider than three of Steve's fingers, and it's more than Steve's ever tried to take before. His eyes closed, he rests his forehead on Bucky's and lets out a shaky breath.

Bucky strokes his hand up and down Steve's back, breathing slow and deep. “You got this, baby,” he murmurs. “You're alright, breathe deep...”

Steve does as instructed, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. His body sinks down slightly on the exhale and they both let out quiet gasps; he can already feel himself relaxing, the sting subsiding. He lets himself lower at an easy pace, Bucky muttering his encouragement, until Steve's seated on Bucky's pelvis. He lets out a groan at the feeling of fullness inside of him and kisses Bucky fluidly. Steve's body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, making him shine in the low light. For a time they simply kiss, giving Steve the opportunity to adjust, as Bucky keeps himself almost completely still below him. Eventually, Steve gives his hips an experimental rock and sees stars. As soon as he does it, he feels like he's burning up from the inside out; he _needs_ to move.

Rising his body, Steve slides Bucky almost entirely out of him before coming back down and the two men groan in unison. Steadily, Steve picks up the pace until he's practically bouncing on Bucky's dick, Bucky's grip on his hip firm.

“God, Bucky...” he keens, his voice breaking off into an utterly wanton sound.

“Stevie, fuck, you're so fucking tight...”

“Buck, please...”

Bucky starts to thrust his hips up off the bed in time with the blond's rhythm and Steve has to put his hand over his mouth to stifle the cry it brings from him. As though to make up for Steve's lowered volume, Bucky's increases. Steve see stars every time their hips meet and he can feel the heat pooling low in his belly. Bucky feels huge inside him and it's like his whole body is thrumming with pleasure. He rolls down to meet every one of Bucky's thrusts, the two of them finding an easy rhythm, the force growing fierce and pace quick. This thighs are shaking from the exercise and stimulation and he can feel his heart pound in his chest and he breathes roughly through he nose. The sounds escaping them both are broken and desperate as they fuck. Bucky's hand leaves his hip and starts to roughly fist his cock and Steve has to force back another shout as he's stimulated from both ends.

“Come for me, Steve,” Bucky groans, teeth clenched, and after half a dozen thrusts Steve does as told with a muffled whine. He keeps riding their brutal pace through his orgasm and Bucky soon follows, spilling into Steve's body.

The pair finally stills, and Steve peels his hand away from his mouth so that he can put it to better use. The two of them kiss as they come down from their high and Steve runs his hands up and down Bucky's bare torso, letting out small sighs and shivers as aftershocks hit him. Bucky grows increasingly sluggish beneath him, his tiredness from earlier returning tenfold after the exertion.

Steve is the first one to reluctantly pull away. “Let me get you cleaned up and then we'll get some sleep, okay?” He kisses Bucky's temple as he pulls off of him, the sensation profoundly unpleasant, and tries to walk as normally as possible to the bathroom. We cleans himself as best he can and then wets a cloth with hot water to bring back to the bedroom. 

When he returns, Bucky in lying on the floor next to the bed rather than on it. Steve falters for a moment. It's as much of a reminder of how much has changed as that metal arm glinting in the low light; Steve slept on his floor for months after waking up from the ice. Neither of them are the same men they used to be.

Steve kneels over Bucky, who kisses him again lazily, and then sets about washing the streaks of his orgasm from his chest. When he's done, he tosses the hand towel in the shower and walks back into the bedroom. Pulling the blanket from the bed, he lays it over Bucky before joining him on the floor, curling up to the brunet's right side.

“This okay?” he asks, still tentative of Bucky's comfort levels.

Bucky stares at him in near awe for a moment before nodding once and then shuffling closer to Steve, who drapes an arm across him and lets it settle on his waist. “Thank you,” he murmurs after a time, “for... looking.”

Steve swallows the lump in his throat. “Thank you for coming home, Buck...”

Neither of them are the same men they used to be, but even these versions of themselves keep the chill away from the other.

Both of them sleep better than they have in years.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated. Thank you to the organizers of the Spring Fling for all the work they put into this event to make it happen, and to whoever the author of my prompt is!


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